It Just Started To Rain
by Kumara and Bacon
Summary: What happens when Harry moves into his new apartment to rediscover a scrapbook filled with memories of happier times? Hinted SLASH of HPDM. Nothing severe. However… don’t like it? Don’t read it. ONESHOT


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter was never mine. Sorry to disappoint.

**A/N: **This is quite sad… I hope I portrayed the emotions well. I'd love a review of this since I hadn't quite done something like this before! And, the title is from a song I like called "It Just Started To Rain," by World Without Sundays. That's where I draw inspiration from the story from, and I make small references to it throughout the story. If you look up the lyrics and read the story, you might just catch them. Kudos to anyone who does!

**Summary: **What happens when Harry moves into his new apartment to rediscover a scrapbook filled with memories of happier times? Hinted SLASH of HPDM. Nothing severe. However… don't like it? Don't read it. ONESHOT

**Rated: **PG. Nothing sexual actually happens…

**Reviews: **Yes, please!

**It Just Started To Rain**

Harry set a box down in his bare apartment, and ran a hand across his wet forehead. His eyes took in the white walls, and the floors that needed furnishing. He listened for sounds of life in the building; he strained his ears as best he could; he heard nothing. No laughter in the hallway; no arguments through the walls. He truly was the first tenant in the building. He had hoped the landlord would've gotten someone to live next door to him since the last time they talked. But, by the looks of things, it hadn't happened that way.

As his eyes roamed the room, he ran across a blue book that stuck out from one of the boxes he brought in earlier, and he recognized it as a scrapbook Hermione had made for him. She made it for him a long time ago, back when he and Draco were dating.

His feet took him closer to the box, and his mind told him not to go closer. All the pain from the last few months would flood back, which was something Harry didn't need right now, not after everything that happened. Pain, no matter what anyone said, was not just a state of mind. As far as Harry was concerned, pain was infinite, always coming, even when you didn't want it, unlike love. Everyone had to work for love, whether they knew it or not, and everyone's worked for it at one point or another. No, love was definitely not infinite. No one he knew could ever get more whenever they needed it.

However, Harry wasn't listening to the wills of his mind. His eyes were solely focused on the blue book. Cautiously, his hand reached out for the book, as if it would explode any minute. Then, he went to his window for better lighting, and hesitated before opening it. His mind continued to scream at him, hoping that he wouldn't open it. He really shouldn't dare, but Harry ignored the warnings. If anything, he wondered why the voice in his head sounded so much like Hermione; it made him want to open the damned book even more.

Without further waiting, he opened the thing that caused his mind to yell at him, and the first page stared at him. Just stared at him in that unkind way, mocking him, showing him what he couldn't have.

Draco.

Draco and him sat together _laughing _in that picture. They laughed like they had no troubles in the world. Like nothing could ever touch them…

At that time, it felt like nothing ever could touch them. Harry was on top of the world then. Voldemort was defeated. Many of his death eaters were captured and sent to Azkaban. Draco came out of hiding and found Harry. In fact, Harry hid Draco in the first place, but the reason why didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore…

His fingers traced the outline of a young, happy version of Draco, remembering just how blonde he was… how slim he kept himself… just how cute Draco's nose was when he scrunched it up in laughter. His hands shook as he turned the page.

They were at a café with Hermione and Ron, enjoying a poetry reading. Harry and Draco were holding hands, and present day Harry felt something around his heart tighten, and he gave out a small sob.

He remembered that day in the café clearly like it only happened yesterday. Draco was quite the poet, and Harry was able to persuade him to read one of them. Draco blushed, saying his poetry wasn't "any good." But, Harry laughed and shoved him on stage. His poems received the most praise.

But, when Harry thought of it even further, he realized he filled in Draco's voice with his own. He tried playing the memory over in his head again, but this time, using Draco's voice, and found that he couldn't.

He could not remember Draco's voice.

At this, his legs gave out, and he broke into more tears. Why didn't the Ministry capture all those stupid Death Eaters? Why did they have to seek revenge for their bloody master? What good would coming after the "Boy Who Lived," who really hasn't been a boy in many years, do for their dead as a doornail fucking master? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Killing him wouldn't get Voldemort back! It just got them exposed to the Ministry and landed in Azkaban!

If the remainingDeath Eaters didn't come after him, Draco wouldn't have thrown himself in front of him. Draco wouldn't have been messed up so severely that magic couldn't help. None of the magic in the world could help. Nothing could evade the killing curse. Draco died within seconds, and a small part of Harry died with him.

Harry would've killed himself on the spot. That's what they wanted, wasn't it? Isn't it?

But Draco wouldn't have wanted it. He would've wanted him to live his life, move on. Forget him. But how could you forget someone like Draco? Someone who changed your life for the better? Helped bring light when everything was so dark? He concluded that you couldn't move on from someone like that.

Harry laid his head on the cool glass of the window, fresh tears running down his cheeks. He watched as the rain began to fall, and the raindrops started coming down faster and faster until it all came crashing down at once instead of a small trickle as before.

He sat there for hours, ignoring the rest of the world. Someone came to his door, his new phone rang, and the clock ticked on… But nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered without Draco.

**Remember to...**

**Review!**


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